Operation Caribbean
by Pereybere
Summary: Brennan has been craving attention and she's decided to visit Sully in the Caribbean. It's up to Booth to convince her that he can provide more than that in DC.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Operation Caribbean

**Rating: **M in later chapters.

**Disclaimer: **These characters do not belong to me. They are still belong to Fox and shall do so for forever more.

**Summary: **Brennan is craving attention and she's decided to visit Sully in the Caribbean. It's up to Booth to convince her that he can provide more than that in DC.

**Author's Note: **It's been one of those Sundays were I desperately, desperately did not want to go to work. I decided to remedy the situation by doing some writing and hopefully the product of my decision (this) will be enjoyable to some people. Don't forget to review, please.

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"I brought food," he said cheerily, holding two brown bags of greasy food (his speciality) for her inspection. Her stomach immediately growled in protest of so many hours without indulgence and she leaned back in her chair. The fact that she did not remain hunched over her desk was a subtle indication that he was allowed to proceed into her office.

The closer he stepped the stronger the scent of spicy Thai food became and Brennan felt her mouth water painfully. She needed to remember to eat if she wanted to avoid such ravenous moments.

"Noodles?" she asked hopefully and Booth's brows drew together in a look of disbelief.

"Need you ask? I brought two." She beamed at him, standing. It was really rather considerate that he remember to bring food during their evenings of mind-numbingly boring administration. Crossing the room to her couch, where Booth had already secured one half for himself, she stretched her arms skyward and felt her spine readjust in relief.

Pulling the coffee table close to his shins, Booth set out the containers in a row before offering her a set of chopsticks. "Sit," he commanded as though they were in his office and not hers. Brennan was used to his strict nurturing behaviour and knew better now than to resist it.

For a long moment she did not eat, preferring instead to inhale to mixture of spices and soy. Beside her, Booth was already chewing noodles, humming his approval, as he always did. "Amazing," he said through a mouthful and she smiled, twiddling her chopsticks through her fingers. "Aren't you hungry?" he asked when he noticed that she had not dove into her food with her usual eagerness.

Brennan tapped the end of one chopstick against the table, sighing heavily. "I was thinking of taking a few weeks off," she said. His hand stilled over chilli beef. "I might go to the Caribbean." The implication resonated through the office, unspoken yet screeching. She did not look at him.

"On vacation?" he asked after a long pause. Brennan nodded, her russet hair bouncing with each fierce dip of her head. "Well…" he swiped his tongue over his lower lip. "That's a nice idea." Brennan reached for a carton of noodles, fiddling with the lid.

"I'm hoping to catch up with Sully." Booth uncapped a bottle of water, buying himself enough time to formulate an answer that was not acidic in nature.

"I'm sure he'd be glad to see you." Brennan's blue eyes lit and she beamed.

"Do you think so? After what happened?" He tried to smile reassuringly, just to ease the frown that marred her forehead. Instead, he choked and began coughing manically, when only proved to deepen the creases with a more serious kind of anxiety. "Are you okay?" she asked, bending forward, dropping her hand to his back and thumping fiercely. He wheezed.

"I'm fine," he gasped. "Fine." She retracted her hand, offering him his own water. She looked bemused, slightly. "Your food is getting cold." His eyes watered and his throat burned but he was distracted by the thought of her running off to paradise with Sully. What if she chose not to return?

"I just think," she said, folding her legs, "that I should be trying to integrate happiness into my life, too. You know?" He met her eyes now, holding her gaze for long enough for it to be somehow poignant. Brennan found that she could not look away and she felt almost trapped.

"Yes," he said eventually. "I agree." It was as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders and the tension eased from her body. He supposed she liked to have his acceptance and understanding. "Do you wish, sometimes, that you had left with him?" Brennan seemed to contemplate this for a moment before shaking her head.

"No. I had too much to lose here. I just miss the… companionship." If only she realised how much he wanted to bridge the gap in their relationship to become her companion, she might not have been so eager to take a vacation. But then, he thought morosely, perhaps she would. Perhaps he was not the companion that she wanted. The thought made his chest feel heavier than it did whenever he was choking on Thai beef.

"We should work," he said sharply, gesturing to the pile of unfinished and much debated reports behind the cartons of food that Brennan had not yet touched. She felt better after speaking with him but somehow traitorous. Recently they had remained curiously celibate and she was driving herself mad wondering if perhaps there was an unspoken agreement between them. It was her fear that it was a one-sided agreement that had urged her to take a vacation in the Caribbean.

Brennan had not missed Sully in the truest sense of the word. Their banter had always been light-hearted and he was fun. When she had spent hours debating the laws of justice, morals and religion with Booth, she sometimes wanted to unwind over a glass of wine and sex. Sully was more than obliging and since he had left, she had felt lonely. However she did not believe that she was pining for Sully specifically, just someone.

"Would you agree with that?" Booth asked and she frowned, entirely perplexed. "I think you should eat. You're fading out and that never happens." Brennan obliged, leaning back against the couch. She felt embarrassed almost that she had been lost so completely in her own thoughts. "Maybe you really do need that vacation," he joked and she nodded.

Raking her fingers through her hair, she sighed loudly, rather annoyed at her lack of focus. "What were you saying?" she asked.

"That Richard Morris was murdered out of jealousy. It was premeditated right down to where she would hide the murder weapon…" Brennan, who would usually have began a lengthy debate, nodded mutely. She was in no mood to discuss Katherine Morris' intentions and it was so unlike her that she felt almost guilty. What if Booth wanted to mull over the details? What if something bothered him as it would usually bother her? "You know," he said, pushing aside the empty container, "we can do this tomorrow."

"Would you like to share a bottle of wine?" she asked and the dramatic change in topic surprised him. They rarely discussed anything outside of work because Booth was so immediately defensive if she broached the subject of his personal life. This was another way in which Booth and Sully were so different. Sully's life had always been an open book – so accessible if only she'd just asked.

"I'm not much of a wine drinker," Booth replied, his eyes narrowed. He looked so suspicious of her that she felt embarrassed again. "But I'll take a beer instead." Brennan smiled broadly, shifting forward on the couch. Booth wiped a spot of soy-sauce from the corner of his mouth, watching her with open curiosity and wonder. "You are a peculiar woman, Temperance Brennan," he said as an after thought and she kept her head bowed as she slipped into her coat, surprised at how nice it felt that he would say something that she deemed so complimentary. It was resolutely unlike Booth.

"Come on," she urged, leaving the containers on her table, knowing that her office would permeate the aroma of Thai food in the morning. "Let's live a little." Booth chuckled, the sound reminiscent of when he had choked. He sounded oddly disbelieving. "Who are you dating these days?" she asked as they made their way along the labyrinth of corridors from her office to the entrance. They were, as they had been so many times before, the only two left in the building aside from security.

"Bones," Booth replied in his usual warning tone. She shot him a glare that was icy and annoyed. He sighed heavily. "No one. You know that. I thought mind games were beneath you." Her eyebrow rose and she smiled cheekily.

"Angela said mind games are a woman's secret weapon. She said I should utilize the gift." Booth couldn't squelch the laughter that rose in his chest. Angela was perhaps too savvy a woman, sometimes. God help Hodgins, he thought, trying that one under control. Brennan was looking at him as though she wanted to say something and he wished she would, because he had nothing very articulate to say himself.

In fact they didn't say very much at all as Brennan directed him to a pretty little wine bar on the outskirts of DC. It was a mild night and their jackets were not really necessary. The stars were out overhead and the twinkling fairy lights wrapped around the trees that decorated the terrace were mini-replicas of the diamante sky. Brennan opted that they sit outside and they insinuated themselves between other patrons of the bar, all of which were sipping aromatic red wines. He felt somehow unsophisticated when he ordered a bottle of beer. The waiter looked scandalised and Booth was tempted to ask Brennan if she wouldn't prefer Wong Foo's instead.

She had her head turned towards the bay trees and her slender fingers were flicking the white bulbs, making the pin-prick lights tremble. She looked fascinated by them, lost in a far-away place. Booth studied her features, wondering what she might have been thinking about. Was this a place that she frequented with Sully? Did she miss or love him enough to stay with him in the Caribbean?

He would miss her, he knew. She was such a fundamental part of his life, now. When she had suggested leaving before, he had thought his heart might break. They were dancing around the obvious because they were afraid to tarnish the spectacular brilliance of their partnership. But she was fantastic, he knew. Sully had known it, too.

Sully almost got to keep her.

He couldn't let it happen. She couldn't go to the Caribbean. He would have to stop her. Somehow.

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I don't intend on making this a long story. Now I know we have all head this before and, you know, whatever. This really will only be three maximum four chapters long. Please let me know what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Operation Caribbean

**Disclaimer: **I own only my imagination and the computer used to write this story. The characters are borrowed. No infringement intended.

**Rating: **M in later chapters.

**A/N: **Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter and who has come back for more. Thanks also to everyone who commented on Melodious Love. I was pleased that so many people enjoyed it. I hope you enjoy this chapter, too.

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She felt warm inside even though the mild spring evening had chilled significantly. Despite taking her jacket off earlier in the evening, she had since slid it back on and had shifted her chair closer to the deck heaters. Booth had stopped talking a while back and she thought that he looked rather more sullen than usual. In fact, she thought, he hadn't spoken a terrible lot since they had arrived.

"Where do you see yourself in ten years, Bones?" he asked and the sound of his voice surprised her because she had been so busily studying his features that she had not noticed the tiny change in his eyes as he drew himself out of his mind and back to reality. She rested her elbows on the table, preoccupying herself with the fairy lights again.

"Working," she replied giving him the least satisfactory answer he could ever have imagined.

"Working," he echoed, horrified. She nodded, enthused. "You've made a considerable amount of money writing books, you are the country's top anthropologist but in ten years, you can see yourself not enjoying the fruits of over twenty years of hard labour but… working?" He breathed the last word as though it were the name of a disease. She blinked, surprised.

"Can't you?" she asked, draining the last droplets of wine into her glass. She had tried to persuade him to try some but Booth had steadfastly refused.

"I can see myself living in the country somewhere, with acres and acres of green fields and trees. I'll be restoring cars for the fun of it…" his eyes looked lost again as he stared over her shoulder and beyond. She snapped her fingers, amused, and his fantasy vanished. "Working…" he scoffed, shaking his head. "What happened to marriage? Children?" She titled her head, a curtain of hair falling across her eye.

"You know I have no interest in children and I do not believe in the institution of marriage." He rolled his eyes but he was smiling and she knew not to take his action as a sign of disapproval. Booth respected her choices, sometimes it took awhile, but he always did and that made him somehow unique in her life.

"Ah," he said, almost wistful, "the institution of marriage." Brennan frowned, thrown by the lack of conviction in his voice and the almost… melancholy tone that had been adopted after six beers. She wondered if he was drunk, even if he wasn't slurring his words. "Why do you think Angela said 'no' to Hodgins?" Booth straightened in his chair.

Brennan had asked Angela the same thing. Not because she wanted her best friend to get married, exactly, just that she did expect Angela to be more than happy to oblige – especially when she described the ring. "She said that marriage is so important that it sometimes tarnishes the brilliance of the love two people share. She said that she loves Jack so much that she wants to be certain that marrying him won't ruin what they already have." Booth nodded.

"Hodgins told me," he said and Brennan blinked in surprise.

"I didn't realise that you two were so close," she said running her fingertips along the slender stem of her glass. Booth shrugged.

"Neither did I," he admitted. "Anyway, it's hardly the point. Maybe she's right." Brennan pushed her glass away now, too intrigued by the deep sincerity in Booth's tone to be interested in drinking. "Angela doesn't want to lose Hodgins. Maybe marriage, in effect, doesn't prove to do anything except… drive people apart."

"I thought you were pro-marriage," Brennan said, somewhat confused. "Relationships under God's blessing and all that." Booth picked at the label on his bottle, his thumb flicking the paper.

"I'm just saying that it's hardly necessary, is it? Hodgins loves Angela and she loves him, regardless of whether they say 'I do', right? They enjoy each other's company, laugh together… what more do they need, essentially?" Brennan rubbed her forehead, the effects of a bottle of wine beginning to tell, now that Booth suddenly wanted to engage in profound conversation.

"I don't think you should mention this to Angela," she said. "Apparently when he asks again… she's thinking of saying 'yes'." Booth smiled, but the light didn't entirely reach his eyes. "I thought you would be pleased." He took a sip of beer.

"I am," he said. She folded her arms and turned her head towards the fairy-lights again. He watched the soft glow play against her features, dark shadows against the creamy light of her skin. She was contemplative, gnawing on the corner of her lip. "If she's going to say 'yes' she needs to make it quick. Hodgins is losing faith in the institution of marriage, himself." Brennan wondered if she should tell Angela, then decided it wasn't really her business. She and Booth were just two people, discussing friends. "When are you going on vacation?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"Maybe next week," she replied, thinking of Sully again. Since drinking with Booth, she hadn't felt quite such an urgent need to go. Being in an intimate relationship again sounded wonderful, but looking across the table at Booth, seeing a reflection of something there, she knew going to Sully was just a means of proving to herself that she did not need to wait until whatever she had going on with Booth materialised into something solid. Right now their feelings were phantoms; apparitions that showed themselves during times of stress, loneliness, fear. If she was going to admit having any feelings for him, they'd need to feel real and not so… fleeting.

Booth nodded. "Weather will be good," he said and she felt almightily disappointed. Why couldn't he just tell her that he thought going to the Caribbean for sex was pathetic? But then, she mused, why couldn't she tell him that it wasn't sex, in fact, but just non-working, all fun, companionship? Even as she sat together with Booth, the conversation of work would inevitably arise and she wanted to escape all that, for awhile.

"Tomorrow, Deputy Director Cullen wants us to meet with him to review the status of my relationship with the Jeffersonian and its effectiveness." Brennan slid her chin into the curve of her palm, her eyelids dropping closed as she wondered how she could have been so accurate in her assumption that everything with she and Booth boiled down, directly, to work.

"Great," she said, "what time?" She stopped listening, focusing instead on a couple at the far end of the terrace. The man leaned across the table, kissed his wife's lips and she smiled, too focused on him to notice that Brennan was watching them at all. Booth had though, and he swung his head, his lips tightening when he saw the couple. They were amongst couples, surrounded and submerged. To the untrained eye, they were but another pair of lovers, enjoying a bottle of wine.

To Brennan, they were awkward and tense, never wanting to truly step beyond the boundary of work, yet intensely displeased when the other did. She sighed. "We should go," she said, unfolding her legs and draining her glass. Booth's movements were languid and easy, the softening effect of his alcohol.

"What would it take," he began, "for you to stay here in DC?" He sounded a little hesitant, as though he wasn't sure he ought to be asking. Brennan lifted her chin, scanning the pretty spring flowers that cascaded over wicker hanging baskets.

"Why would I?" she asked, slipping her hands into her pockets. "I'm not looking for anything to _prevent_ me from going to the Caribbean." After a moment, she laughed. "It's only a vacation, Booth. I'm coming back." He rubbed his forehead, wondering when he had become so intolerant to alcohol. His brain was already throbbing.

"I know, I know," he insisted, "but what I'm _saying_ is, what would it take for you to… you know? _Not _go?" He had thrown some bills on the table and was directing her towards the entrance. Once away from the deck-heaters, she was aware of how chilly the air had become. The waiters bid them goodbye and hoped they would return. Brennan wasn't sure she wanted to drink with Booth again.

"Do you mean a major crisis? Well, obviously if something of vital importance happened at work… I'd stay. Begrudgingly-"

"We're not talking about work!" Booth snapped and she turned her eyes to him, so overwhelmed with an unexpected rush of affection towards him. Did he get tired of discussing nothing but work, too? Was it always just a guise to steer them away from personal topics? Her cheeks flushed. Was Booth trying to discuss personal matters now?

"Something that's worthwhile staying for," she replied, as vague yet as pointed as possible. She had stayed for him last time and he'd made no effort to show that he understood that. She was tired of shifting impatiently, waiting and wondering. "And unless something worthwhile crops up… I'm going." There was a tone of decisiveness to her voice and she realised that she had only truly made the decision at that moment. A sort of unspoken ultimatum to Booth.

Their eyes met and for a long moment she thought he might have understood. Then he smiled pleasantly and said:

"Want to share a cab home?"

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Well, you know how much I would love it if you all reviewed and told me what you thought. Reviews feed my soul and my muse. Thanks for reading, guys!


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Operation Caribbean

**Rating: **This will be an M rated chapter in… maybe the next one.

**Disclaimer: **Fox own, I don't… yak, yak.

**Author's Note: **Well, I got this chapter finished, finally. I'm back to work now and anyone who knows me will know that I am going to be very tired. Of course I will try to input as much as I can into this story, and hopefully, in one or maybe two chapters, this will be wrapped up as a 'short story'. Don't forget to review – and thank you to everyone who has been taking the time to tell me what they think.

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_Do I want to share a cab home? _She played his offhanded comment through in her mind. _No I do not! _Wasn't he listening to anything she had said? Apparently not.

Brennan pulled a cool breath into her lungs and it did nothing to calm her irritation. "I think," she said patiently, controlled, "I am going to go back to work and finish my reports." She thought of stale Thai food and knew that she desperately wanted to go home. Booth frowned, as though he had no idea what had bothered her so much.

"Oh... kay?" he said, massaging his brow. "Do you want some help?" Overhead, clouds had begun to gather and she hoped it wasn't going to rain while they stood at the kerbside debating what they wanted to do – literally and figuratively. She didn't want to be soaked as well as irritated. "Hey?" Booth bent his head, leaning towards her, a soft, almost tender concern etched into his features and worse, his eyes. "Are you alright? You look pissed." She waved her hand, dismissing him.

"I don't get pissed," she replied and he laughed. Laughed as though he were mocking her. "What?" she asked, indignant. "I don't!"

"Oh Bones," he said, dropping his hand to her shoulder. "Everyone gets pissed sometimes. It's all part of being human." Of course she did. It didn't mean that she liked it, though. The loss of emotional control was one of those elements of humanity that kept her awake at night. Why couldn't she look at things in her life objectively? "Come on," he said, easing his arm around her shoulder now. She struggled not to stiffen. "Forget about work. Let's go home." He said 'home' as though it were something shared and not individual. As though they would somehow be going to the same abode. Brennan had long since given up on setting up a home with any man – not just Booth. Relationships in her life had always been decidedly casual.

"I won't have time tomorrow," she said, arching her spine as if to slide away from him. "We have that meeting with Cullen." She imagined she would need plenty of rest for that. Not only was Cullen extremely and sometimes painfully thorough but each time they were called to attend one of his evaluation meetings, he challenged them to justify their partnership. Despite solving dozens of cases, putting murderers behind bars and settling mysteries that were decades long, Cullen still wanted to ensure the FBI were getting value for their money. Still, she liked him in a dysfunctional sort of way.

Booth thrust his hand out towards a passing cab and it slowed to a halt. "Come on, Bones," he urged, opening the rear door. "Life doesn't have to revolve around work." She glared at him, astounded that _he_ had the audacity to say such things to her! Wasn't it always him that brought their conversation back from life and into work? "Don't you ever dance? Go to the theatre? The movies?" he frowned. "I guess not the movies... but the theatre?" Brennan slid into the cab, folding her legs and crossing her arms. She was affronted that he was suggesting that she was somehow boring!

"If I was interesting," she barked, "I might have went away with Sully." Booth slammed the door and gave the driver Brennan's address and then his own. "Maybe I have no 'sense of adventure'." Booth clicked his tongue, vaguely aware that he might have offended her. "I like to dance, actually. And sometimes, I go to the theatre." She hadn't been in years, but when she had been, twice, she had enjoyed it. "And when do _you_ do anything that isn't related to work?" He reached out and took her hand, smoothing her fingers straight, easing them from a tight fist.

"I play ten-pin bowling," he reminded her. "I restore cars." She scoffed.

"I read and listen to music and... write!"

"You write about anthropology which means, Brennan, that you write about _work_. Invalid point." She shook her head, waves of russet hair tumbling over her shoulder.

"Not always. I write... personal projects, too." Perhaps it was the wine, she thought. Ordinarily she would never have told Booth about her personal indulgence. It wasn't exactly erotica. There was more to it than sex. In some stories, there was no sex at all – just the implication of it. The implication of desire and fantasy. "There's no anthropology in those stories." Not in the literal sense, anyhow. But then, human nature and desire all boiled down to anthropological needs anyhow. Booth had released her hand and his head was tilted, his eyes roving her features curiously.

He slumped back against the seat, quite unsure of what he should say.

"Can I read them?" he asked eventually and she shook her head.

"Absolutely not." Silence consumed them again. He wasn't exactly hurt that she wouldn't permit him into the world of her stories, only curious that perhaps he somehow existed in that world, too. Everyone suspected it, even Brennan herself. He glanced sideways at her, surprised to find that she was fiddling with the button of her cuff. _Fiddling_! "I seen _Cats _once," she said, her head bowed. He frowned.

"What?"

"In the theatre!" she said impatiently. "I liked their costumes. I went with Angela." Booth smiled. That seemed a very Angela-like choice. Flamboyant and colourful. He had liked the artist from their first flirtatious meeting. Angela represented harmless fun and he hoped that one day Brennan would find that part of her own personality. "Afterwards, we drank margaritas in a Spanish bar in DC. We were so drunk that night." Brennan sounded almost wistful and Booth, gleeful.

"You got drunk? Willingly?" Temperance sneered, her icicle blue eyes narrowed in half-contempt. "Remember when you got high on Crystal Meth? What I wouldn't give to see _that_ again…" She felt her shoulders loosen then stiffen upon remembering the banging headache that was the aftermath of being high. "Although, it was hardly your fault that it was packed into the wall…" He smirked, turning to the passing street lamps with a crease at the corner of his lips were his smile had not faded entirely.

She remembered those days when their partnership was new and full of innuendo and wonderings of 'what if?'. These days, the 'what ifs?' still persisted in their lives, except the probability was much higher. Brennan felt that a shift between them was somehow inevitable, but she was damn tired of waiting on it. The Caribbean, with its liquid diamond waters and warm beaches and the promise of sex, lured her.

"Hey?" she felt him nudge her, drawing her reigning her imagination back. "What would you love to do, most in the world?" She thought the question was too profound for a woman who had drank an entire bottle of red wine, alone. "And I don't mean professionally." She massaged her brow in contemplation.

"Going up in the 'Vomit Comet' was…" Booth shook his head, rolling his dark eyes skyward as if in disappoint or impatience… or both.

"Something you _haven't_ done before," he said and her mind's eye flashed through all of the things she had already done in life and she realised there had been plenty she had done, and so much she still had not. "I'd like to skydive, watch the world spiral around me… feel the cool air whipping against my face. Tandem, attached to someone… feeling as though there were no one else in the entire universe but us." She thought it sounded terribly romantic, but somehow she suspected that Booth wasn't thinking about romance. Just companionship, a sense of belonging and being.

"I'd like to walk the Great Wall of China," she said after a long pause. "Absorb the tranquillity and the culture. I'd like to sit in a Japanese garden, with trickling waterfalls and not think about work." She'd finally admitted that there was a part of her, however repressed, that sometimes wanted to pretend there was no such thing as work, science, anthropology or death.

"That's a nice thought," Booth nodded after a long moment.

Overhead, the rain had begun, slanting noisily against the windshield of the cab, against the windows. Together they lapsed into silence, and when the cab slid to a stop outside Brennan's building, she felt half relieved and half disappointed that there would be no further revelations. Offering him the fare, which he declined with the wave of his hand, she stood in the rain, peering at him.

If she asked him… if she suggested that he come up for coffee, there would be no refusal, and they would easily slide into the role of lovers. He looked at her with quiet expectation and she almost opened her mouth… almost spoke the words. But then, how could she be sure? Booth needed to make the first move, now that she had refused to leave with Sully. He knew her feelings…

His eyebrow rose.

"Goodnight, Booth," she said, pushing the door closed.


End file.
